rooted
by ohlookrandom
Summary: "One word, Nat. That's all it'll take."
1. Chapter 1

The new Avengers movie- sdfghsgnshabn. I literally JUST watched it. Words can't express my joy at watching it (and seeing Hawkeye and Black Widow together for like all of five minutes...).

I wrote this fic exploring what might have happened after the battle- where would they have gone? Would both of them have ended up together? Or, like the comic book verse, would they have ended up going separate ways? I tried. I should warn you, I know next to nothing about these Marvel characters, save what I dug up from Google and Wikipedia. But I tried. Um.. brownies for me..?

I hope you enjoy! If not, let me know so I know what to improve on. I'm serious. If it's constructive criticism I would LOVE to hear it.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. not even extensive knowledge about any of the following characters.

* * *

In all seriousness, he should not have been there when the bomb hit.

It was a fluke shot, something that should never have happened. It was only supposed to be a routine patrol, a stroll around the perimeter of the factory while the S.H.I.E.L.D agents swarmed the factory. He was only there to make sure that nobody was ambushing the agents.

How was Clint supposed to know that _he _was the target for ambush?

When the first bomb hit, Clint's first sense was to help those who were hurt. The agents who were trapped in the building- his first priority. But when he turned to go to their aid- those _screams_ for help would haunt him if he didn't- he ran right into the trap. The bomb in the car by the entrance exploded.

The last thing he saw was a blinding flash of white before everything faded to cool, passive black.

..

The next time he regained consciousness, he was in the hospital room.

Clint never liked hospitals. They were too cold, too sterile, too artificial. He lived for the outdoors, the field, the missions S.H.I.E.L.D routinely sent him on. He liked being free; not being caged in a room where there were too many people hovering, poking and prodding.

When he woke up, his director was sitting next to him. Nick Fury's shoulders bristled with restrained power, his eye patch hiding the scars that he suffered so many years ago. "Good. You're up," he said with about as much sympathy as he could afford to show. "Took you long enough."

Clint glared at him. "Thanks, Fury," he said. "How long was I out?"

"A week."

_A week_! Clint's mind reeled at the thought. "The agents-"

"They're all okay," Fury nodded. "Badly burned and suffered some gas inhalation, but they'll live. You took the brunt of the hit."

Clint leaned his head against the headboard. "How bad was it?"

"Pretty bad." Fury rose and paced to the window, where it was beginning to rain and drip down the pane. "You were thrown at least fifty feet from the brunt of the explosion, and you broke a couple of ribs."

"That doesn't sound bad."

"No," Fury agreed, "but it's bad enough that the doctors are refusing to let you out of bed for at least a month."

"A month!"

Fury scowled. "At least your hearing isn't impaired. Yes, a month. Inconvenient, but I'd rather you at full rest."

"Will I be here the whole time?"

"Maybe." Fury was maddeningly vague. "We may move you if publicity gets too bad."

Clint snorted. "What would they want with an assassin?"

"A former Avenger?" Fury raised an eyebrow. "There's no telling."

There was a knock on the door and then Tony Stark and Bruce Banner entered, the former striding in without waiting and the latter wincing apologetically as he followed. "Well, you look like you're in fantastic shape," Stark said brightly- too brightly, Clint inwardly grumbled. "What's your secret?"

Banner rolled his eyes and went around to stand by Fury's side. "Steve is coming soon," he said in reference to Captain America. "He's coming from D.C."

"Not all of us can fly," Stark said as way of explanation. "He has to take the train like the rest of us civilians. Well, you civilians." He tapped his chest and grinned that sadistic, sardonic smile he always wore.

"And well, Thor is on Asgard somewhere," Banner added. "He'd be here if he could, though."

"A demi-god would come down to see me?" Clint deadpanned. "Hardly expected."

The four men lapsed into silence- at least, the Avengers did while Fury stood by, imposing in his constant silence. Clint was aware that they were skirting the issue of the sixth member not mentioned, the one that he wanted to hear about the most. _And Natasha_?

Banner's was the first pair of eyes that rose to meet his questioning gaze, and the man dropped his gaze away to look at Stark. Clint turned his head to stare at Stark, but the scientist seemed as unflappable as always. "So when are you getting out?" he asked instead.

"A month."

"For _broken _ribs?" Stark asked incredulously. "What sort of medical attention are you getting? I wonder if they're for hire…"

"Where's Natasha?" Clint asked flatly, getting to the point as usual. "You've told me about Steve and Thor. The rest of us are here. Where's Natasha?"

"She's probably on a mission somewhere," Stark said dismissively (though he looked really shifty for a moment and Banner fidgeted next to him), "doing her military stuff and flipping men over and shooting them. You know. The usual."

Clint looked at Fury to see his director being maddeningly calm about it all. "You _told _her I was here, right?"

"It's not her duty to be here," Fury answered.

"She's my _teammate_," Clint said disbelievingly. "Answer my question, Fury. Did you, or did you not, tell her I was here?"

"Fury didn't tell _us _you were here," Banner pointed out helpfully.

"We just happen to stalk you, is all-" Stark added, but the death glare Clint leveled on him- the glare that he had only seen when Clint had been possessed by Loki- shut him up.

"The Black Widow is her own agent, Hawkeye," Fury said in that same maddeningly calm tone. "She can choose to respond when and where she wishes."

"So you told her." Clint was beginning to understand.

Fury did not respond, but his shoulders tensed and rolled with what looked like a restrained effort at keeping himself calm. "I think you need some rest, Hawkeye. I will be back soon." He straightened his jacket collar and dusted imaginary lint off his sleeve before nodding formally to the superheroes in the room and leaving.

Clint stared straight ahead, letting the information roll over him. _They told Natasha… and she isn't coming_. What he wasn't really sure of was why.

Banner cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I had better be going," he said, clearly not wanting to be in the same room as the visibly unhappy Clint Barton. "Stark, you have that date with Pepper?"

Tony Stark was standing on the other side of the bed, arms crossed as he regarded Clint with a thoughtful expression. "Thinking about someone?" he asked coolly.

"None of your business, Rusty."

"Oh, ouch." Stark clutched his chest in mock agony. "That hurt." He began to walk away, but turned back. "Don't fret. She may come." And then he was gone as he closed the door behind him and Banner, leaving Clint in his bed wondering why on earth the person he trusted with his life wouldn't come.

..

He woke up next to find Steve Rogers by his bedside, reading a magazine with his brows furrowed. "Oh, you're awake," the Captain remarked as he put his magazine down. "Nice rest?"

Clint only frowned at him.

"It was an attempt at a joke," Rogers said awkwardly. "How are you feeling?"

"Broken ribs," Clint answered wearily, "so about as well as I could possibly feel." He changed the subject and nodded at the magazine. "What are you reading?"

"This magazine is called _People_," Rogers explained, holding it up, "and it is indeed about people, but I cannot understand why these people are so silly as to continually get themselves drunk and photographed. Or why they can't stay in marriages," he added, frowning at the front cover.

"It's Hollywood, Rogers, something you and I may never know," Clint said tiredly, leaning his head against the headboard. "People do silly things all the time."

"Yes, but…" And Rogers gave up on trying to figure out this piece of twenty-first century out. He leaned forward and rested his arms on the railings beside Clint's bed. "Have Tony and Bruce come to visit you yet?"

"They have." And again Clint felt the unspoken sixth member's name lingering in the room, the proverbial elephant in the room that nobody wanted to talk about. "Bruce brought flowers." He jerked his head at the corner of the room. "Daisies, of all things."

"Hmm." And Rogers eyed him critically. "You always struck me as more of a tulips man."

Clint actually laughed at that one, although something in the back of his mind said, _Her favorite flower is the tulip_. "Yes, well, what are you? Traditional roses?"

"Sunflowers," Rogers admitted.

They were silent for a moment before Clint decided to breach the subject. "Have you heard anything from Natasha?" he asked.

The other superhero had the decency to look into Clint's eyes. "No," he said quietly, "I have not."

"Was she told?"

"We found out from Stark," Rogers said. "Stark keeps tabs on the news and he got wind of your injury so we came down once you had recovered enough to have visitors."

"So all the Avengers know?"

Rogers hesitated, knowing that it was a potentially loaded question. "We all had means of knowing," he admitted. "Thor sends his regards, by the way, and hopes that you get well soon."

Clint completely ignored the second part of Rogers's statement and focused on the first. "So she knows."

"Most likely…"

Both of them were silent for a moment before Clint again broke the silence. "I saved her from when she was young, you know."

"I heard," Rogers answered quietly.

"And we've been partners for ages." Clint looked at him. "I trust her irrevocably."

"And her, you."

"How would you know?" Clint challenged. "You never saw us together except for the war against Loki."

"I can tell," Rogers said wearily. "You two agreed to stay back and hold the site when I went to scout the area and evacuate the rest of the civilians. And you two worked together like one unit, like you'd done it before." He looked at Clint. "Very few teams can do that without complete trust in one another."

"Then why isn't she here?" Clint looked at the door, as though by looking at it he could compel it to open and reveal her standing there. "I was there when she was badly injured back in Budapest."

Captain America was silent for a few moments before answering. "She is compromised," he said quietly.

"Come again?"

"She is compromised, Clint, because she loves you."

"She doesn't _love _me," Clint says hotly, "are you crazy?"

"Only as crazy as a man trapped in ice for over sixty years," Rogers says, cracking a smile. "But I see it, and so does Stark and Banner. She cares for you more than any of us, and she knows it."

Clint only shook his head, stubborn in his disbelief.

"You didn't see her when you were with Loki," Rogers pressed. "She was confident, yes, extremely disciplined, ready to do what was necessary. But she never gave up on you. She never gave up on hoping that you would come back. And she realized it then. So did Loki. It is her one weakness, Clint. She will do everything she can to avoid hurting you.

It is why she is not here tonight. Because if she was here, it would be harder for her to tear herself away. No doubt S.H.I.E.L.D is already asking her to find out who did this to you, and being here would be harder for her to be objective. She wouldn't be the Black Widow you know."

"You make it sound like such an easy decision," Clint said bitterly. "Like it's a duty to her country, not her friend."

"It is not, but for us, the duty to our country and friends must be the same." Rogers passed a hand over his eyes, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "She cares about you, Clint, and I am sure that she is sorry at the decision she has to make."

Clint took in a deep breath, trying to absorb all the information Rogers is telling him. Difficult information to process, no doubt, but the Captain was right. "How do you know so much about this?"

Rogers cracked a smile. "Well, you see, my friend, being on ice gives you a lot of time to think." He stood up to go. "I'll be back tomorrow with Tony and Bruce," he offered.

"Goodbye, Steve." Clint's eyes were closing.

There were footsteps, and then they stopped. "Clint," Rogers said gently, "did you love the Black Widow the way she loved you?"

"I never stopped," Clint murmured, half-asleep already.

He could almost see the Captain nodding before the door closed behind him.

..

Maybe it's a dream, but he wakes briefly to see a redhead bending over him before a gentle kiss is dropped onto his forehead.

..

He never sees her again.

If he does, it is a glimpse, a blink that maybe speaks volumes of how much he's been thinking about her, but he never gets a complete look at her. Months go by and still Fury remains maddeningly tight-lipped about her whereabouts while Clint almost goes mad trying to figure out where she is.

_Don't look for a ghost_, Tony tells him one day.

_If she doesn't want to be found, she won't be found_, Bruce adds when asked if he knew where she is.

_She has a duty, and so do you_, Steve reminds him when he comes to visit S.H.I.E.L.D on a rainy day in March.

Thor only shrugs when he comes down to say hello. _I do not know where she is. I have not seen her since my brother's betrayal._

Agent Hill is of no help. _I can't help you. I can't disclose any information on any of the other Avengers_. But she pats him sympathetically on the shoulder even as she turns away.

They all say the same thing, whether verbal or not: _She loved you. Remember that._

_..  
_

Life goes on, even for a broken man like Clint Barton.

He goes on missions, completes them, gets awarded for bravery in a mission or something inane like that, breaks his bow, gets a more hi-tech one, and then heads off to Europe or Africa for another mission a day after the previous one. It doesn't matter how many times he gets scarred or hurt; he just grits his teeth and fights through the pain.

_It's almost like he wants to get hurt so badly that she'll _have _to notice_, Agent Hill says sadly to Fury after Clint is brought in with a scar rippling down his arm and into his side.

_She's noticed_, Fury says curtly.

The Widow does not appear to Clint again, and eventually he begins to forget what she looks like or what she sounds like. _Maybe it's for the best, _he says to himself late at night.

He doesn't like waiting for something that seems like it'll never come.

* * *

Reviews are appreciated! :)


	2. Chapter 2

Whew! This one was a kicker to write. (Especially when you begin at ten at night and finish at 12.30 a.m. Darn you, muse, for being a late night owl!)

This fic is in response to all the reviewers who asked for it. Many of you asked for a two shot- either from Natasha's perspective, or something happening later. I couldn't do something happening later, per se, because I'd already set it up so that she would disappear into the wind, but from the very start I'd always wanted to explore the story a little further.

I really wanted these two to have a happy ending, I really did. Unfortunately, if I'm going off the comic book universe- and for future predictions of what will happen in my story, I did use the comic book universe- these two do not end up together. (Correct me if I'm wrong, I did all about an hour's worth of researching... ehehe.) Yet I thought the movie hinted at the pair (and in the comics, Hawkeye and the Black Widow do love each other), and we know from the previous chapter what Steve thinks Natasha's reasons for not coming might be- so then, how to combine the two universes? This is my take on it.

So long story short... presenting Natasha's viewpoint on the war and the entire affair.

Disclaimer: Are you kidding?

* * *

"Sir, I-"

"Not now, Jarvis," Tony Stark said dismissively as he continued mixing the cocktail. From her position near the window, Pepper Potts smiled indulgently as she watched him work.

"But sir, there's-"

"-another invasion in Manhattan?" Stark finished. "Because I highly doubt that since we whooped Loki's army a few months ago."

"No, but sir you should really-"

"There are a lot of things I _should _do, Jarvis," Stark interrupted again, smoothly handing off the glass to Pepper, who accepted it with a kiss on his cheek. "Save orphans, find a clean energy source, save the world…" He paused for dramatic effect. "But I already do all those things so tell me, Jarvis, what else should I be doing?"

The computer system was strangely silent.

Stark raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "Ah. Well. I guess I'll never find out what I was supposed to do, then."

"_Answer your damn phone, maybe_," a voice snapped from the doorway, and Pepper turned in alarm to see a bedraggled Natasha Romanoff standing in the doorway, wires in her hand.

For his part, Tony Stark seemed more irritated than surprised at his former teammate's entrance. "You got past Jarvis's defenses," he noted not with a little annoyance. "I really hope that's not the wiring from the elevator boards, that took forever to configure."

"If you had answered your phone, I wouldn't have had to dismantle your precious system," Natasha retorted. "Would it _kill _you to pick up in the last twenty times I have tried to reach you?" Her Russian accent was beginning to get more and more pronounced as her level of irritation grew.

"I was… busy," Stark said evasively as he glanced at Pepper.

Natasha noticed the other woman in the room for the first time and turned towards her. "Hello," she said cautiously.

Pepper beamed brightly as she bounced towards the spy, who shrank back out of instinct. "Hello! I'm Pepper Potts. You must be Natasha." She backtracked when Natasha's hand went for her gun automatically. "I mean. I'm not supposed to know that. Right?" she appealed to Stark.

"Quite right, my pet," Stark drawled as he came to her side and put his arm around her waist. "Don't be so trigger happy, Spidey. Pepper is a sealed jar as far as secrets go."

Natasha eyed Pepper with suspicion still, but she held her hand out to shake. "Natasha Romanoff."

"I know. I mean. Hello." Pepper changed the subject hastily. "Well! You two must have some superhero business to take care of. I'll be over…" and she waved in the general direction of the elevators. "…there. Trying to fix Jarvis."

When Pepper had left, Natasha turned to Stark. "What is the meaning of this?" she hissed, holding up her small black phone.

Stark was unflappable, even in the face of the spy's barely concealed rage. "That's a phone, Natasha. In the twenty-first century, we now use that to communicate with each other."

"I'm not Rogers, don't give me a lecture on what a phone is," Natasha snapped. "This isn't funny, Stark. It's not funny when you send me a message on a phone that _nobody _knows about except S.H.I.E.L.D. And it's _not _funny when it's a message about how Clint is in the hospital!"

"It wasn't meant to be funny, S.H.I.E.L.D has terrible encryption skills, and that wasn't a joke," Stark said evenly. "He was caught in a bomb blast- haven't you been _watching _the news? It's not been a quiet affair-"

"I got back from Jakarta two days ago, I haven't turned a single television set on," Natasha said. "S.H.I.E.L.D didn't even tell me anything." Her face was turning whiter by the moment. "Is he okay? Is he awake? Is he-"

"Drink?" Stark offered, more to calm her down than anything. He'd never really seen her so worked up before, not even when Clint had been with Loki and hadn't been thinking straight. Then again, he hadn't seen her when she'd found out. He'd only seen her after she had had time to recompose herself. "There's a ton of alcohol and you should probably help me finish it since Pepper can't hold her liquor."

"I can, I just don't want to, there's a difference," Pepper's voice floated from across the hallway.

"I don't want a drink," Natasha growled. "_Where _is he?"

"The hospital. Natasha, calm down. Bruce and I will be going in the morning, you can come with us-" But the spy was already storming out. "Where are you going? We haven't even gotten to the part where you insult me yet-"

The doors leading to the stairway slammed shut in response.

Pepper poked her head out from where she was working. "She's just worried," she assured the superhero as he stood in the middle of the room, an exasperated expression plastered on his face. "She's just worried about Clint, that's all."

"So am I," Stark retorted, "but you don't see _me _storming out of rooms, do you?" He glared at the empty hallway and added, "The least she could have done after dismantling my butler is have a _drink_."

"She didn't come to say hello to you," Pepper admonished gently. "She came for you to confirm what she already knew."

Stark sat down in a chair, thoughtfully tapping the metal implanted in his chest. "Why would she do that? She could have just read the bulletin I sent all the Avengers."

In response, Pepper only sighed and flicked a switch. Jarvis's voice came back on, indignant and irritated. "Mishandled, sir! I demand justice."

"She could gut and fillet me in five minutes," Stark replied, amused despite himself. Turning back to Pepper, he appealed to her again: "C'mon, tell me."

She only shook her head. "Men."

..

Her room was silent when Natasha got back to S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters. She half expected Maria Hill to be in there, hovering and wanting to know if everything was alright (in the wake of Coulson's absence, still nobody knew how to deal with any of the superheroes). She even half expected Steve or Bruce to be in the room, waiting and twisting their hands trying to explain why they hadn't come to _find _her, why they hadn't told her straight off the bat.

But nobody was there. The only sound she could hear was the almost-silent hum of the machines that cooled the entire jet.

Sinking onto her bed, Natasha realized with a pang that this was the exact same room she'd nursed Clint back to health in all those months ago when they'd been in a war against Asgard. This was the room where she'd had to sit and listen to him thrash against his bindings, where she'd had to sit there and calmly watch as the threats left his throat, as his eyes faded from that pale, cold blue into his normal brown ones. This was the room where she'd vowed to do everything to protect Clint- and this was the room where she was beginning to realize that she'd failed him this time.

_It's not your fault_, she could almost hear him say with that note of impatience in his throat.

But she knew it was her fault. It was her fault that he was even there in the first place. She'd gone to Jakarta without telling him, leaving him in the very spot where she was supposed to be. The bombs were meant for a former spy for the Soviet, not an archer who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

_It's still not your fault_, she could still hear him insisting.

Natasha leaned back in her bed, listening to her breaths cut through the silence. She remembered this room acutely well. This was the room where she had first begun to realize the terrors of being compromised. This was the room where she had first told him she loved him, even if they hadn't realized it at the time; this was where they had left as partners for the last time. This was the symbol of their last moments together as a unit before she began to snip the cords of their relationship.

She remembered the look in Loki's eyes when she had mentioned Clint- that look in his eye that said, _Ah, I've got your weakness now and oh, how I plan to utilize it till you weep. _Her tears hadn't been altogether faked. She had invested herself in the part easily- too easily, she had told herself firmly later- and the tears had been real when she imagined having to fight Clint to the death.

This room was haunted with memories, Natasha thought, and she hated herself for indulging them.

_That's not your fault_.

...

She awoke with a start and sat up hurriedly, her fingers going to her gun. Natasha sat upright, listening intently, but heard nothing except the hum of the machines and the occasional buzz of electricity from the fluorescent lights. Relieved, she sat back down, but winced when an old injury flared.

Her back. Natasha could trace every scar, every bruise back to its origin because she didn't have that many to lay claim to. At the moment, the bruise that was bothering her was from Russia around the time of Loki's invasion. She remembered that bruise- it had been after Coulson's call, after she had found out Clint had been turned. She remembered all too acutely the terror that had flooded her veins, the moment where she felt as though she were being suspended in an alternate universe. And then came the blinding shock, followed by the impetuous decision to cut short the mission, followed by a mad rush to get to wherever the heck S.H.I.E.L.D was so she could begin planning how to bring Clint home.

The bruise was a product of her being too hasty, of being too rushed in finishing the mission off- so she had missed an easy punch and had been punished for it. Clint had asked her about it one day, but she brushed it off and lied, knowing that he already felt bad enough for the entire mishap.

Her mind drifted into another part of the war- the part where her worst nightmare had come true. She remembered those pale blue eyes, the way she begged inwardly for him to come back, even as she threw mean upper hooks and parried well with her fists. She remembered hesitating for the fraction of a second before ducking and flipping him onto his back. For a second, she had stared into his eyes as he started to regain who she was: "Natasha?" -

- and for the minutest moment, she had imagined that this was okay, that they could stop pretending to play this dangerous, dangerous game, that she could stop running; but then she remembered that she was a spy and he was currently a traitor and so she slammed his head down so hard she almost thought she'd killed him.

And then she'd watched as he struggled to come back to life, struggled to come back to himself, struggled to come back to her. She never doubted that he'd make it. Not once. Not when he woke up the first hour and almost broke his wrist trying to break the bonds, not when he woke up the fifth hour and threatened to kill her. Not even when he had nightmares and screamed continuously- screamed his name, Loki's name, her name, alternating between pleas for help and curses and begging and vows of revenge.

No, she loved him, and she hated herself that day for realizing it. Spies did not fall in love. Spies could not fall in love.

Her mind shifted again- now they were past the scene of an almost-kiss, now they were past fingers touching and solitary confinement- now they were standing side by side in a battlefield, war raging all around them. _You can't do this, _he'd said before they went in. _You're a spy. Not a soldier. _

She'd only given him a Look that said _stopmeifyoucan _and gone ahead anyway- and he'd followed the way she knew he would. And they had held off a battalion. Wars had been won on much less than that.

"This is like Budapest," she'd quipped.

"You and I remember Budapest very differently." His voice had been dry and clipped and she knew why. In Budapest, she'd been lying on the ground, injured beyond repair, dizzy and faint from the loss of blood. He'd held off the people they were hunting, half dragged her to a safe spot, and then held her close as S.H.I.E.L.D reinforcements poured in to take control of the situation. Both of them had thought that they wouldn't live that day- but for two different reasons.

Her mind didn't stop thinking about the times that they'd saved each other from certain death. She remembered that look she'd seen in his eyes when he thought she wasn't looking- the look that said _I would go anywhere for you. _She wondered if sometimes he saw that in her, too, and it alarmed her.

He was not a spy, so he could fall in love; but she was, and she could not.

Their partnership had offered her happiness, contentment in the knowledge that she had a solid partner, dependable, loyal and reliable. She didn't trust any of the other Avengers as much- Bruce she sometimes mistrusted, if not feared; Tony was altogether too flippant; Thor was just never there. She trusted the Captain- he was a dependable man- but Clint had always been there for her. He'd saved her. They had a bond the other Avengers would never really have together. So they had gone into battle together. They'd survived together.

At the end, when Loki and Thor were about to leave, she had turned to him and whispered in an impulsive moment of mischief: "Exactly like Budapest." And he had to smile at that one because this was nothing like Budapest, watching the villain be safely transported somewhere. They had not been passively standing; they'd been fighting for their lives still, fighting off rebels, fighting off guerilla fighters. Budapest had become an inside joke. Their inside joke.

Then she remembered him looking at her with that look on his face: _I would go anywhere for you_. _I would fight Death for you, I would protect you when I could_. She wondered if she reflected that back to him and if he knew how much he meant to her, too. She wondered if he would forgive her for disappearing when he needed her most.

He'd promised to be there for her; she'd never made that promise herself. She wasn't obligated to obey a promise she'd never made. Right?

…

She did not go to the hospital the next day, only studiously avoiding Agent Hill's eyes when she entered the control room. Fury didn't say anything, either- he only asked about her mission, was dutifully updated, and then he was back to being his silent, impassive self.

When Clint woke up and Natasha got wind that he was asking for her, she kept herself back. Stark and Banner looked at her curiously, but the former had the grace this time to not ask about it and the latter looked uncomfortable even breaching the topic in her presence. Natasha worked on her next mission, planning and strategizing even as she heard Clint's voice in her head: _Where are you? _She could even see the crease between his eyebrows.

She felt awful for abandoning him at a time when he needed her most, but she knew this was for the greater good. Spies in love only put the ones they love most in danger. Clint didn't need any more danger, Natasha figured as she worked, he was already an Avenger and danger came with the territory.

After Steve came into the room, having just visited Clint, Natasha had had enough. She made a flimsy excuse to Agent Hill (who only nodded wisely) and sneaked into the hospital, borrowing a lab coat and tying her red hair up into a ponytail.

When she slipped into the room and closed the door gently behind her, she was surprised to see Bruce start awake in the corner of the room. He merely looked at her with no abject surprise on his face before leaving the room without another word; either he'd been expecting her, or he was so tired that he didn't see through the disguise. Either way, Natasha stole up to Clint and gently brushed his hair back.

"What I'm about to say," she whispered, even as he stirred under her light touch, "hurts me more than it will hurt you."

He was waking; she could almost see it in his eyes. She leaned over him and heard him begin to say her name in the slow, husky tone she remembered from before. "Natasha… stay."

"I can't." Her eyes filled with tears as she began to remember all the times he had stayed for her. "I can't. I'm in love with you, and I am compromised. I can never stay, Clint."

He was fighting sleep, she could tell, so she made it quick. "I have to go. Goodbye, Hawkeye. You'll never see me again." She leaned over and gave him a kiss on his forehead before standing up.

His fingers found her wrist. "Don't go," he slurred, as though half in a dream.

Natasha gently removed his fingers and walked out of the room, blinking back tears.

Spies didn't get to cry, but Natasha did. It was the only time she'd cried her entire life.

…

Some days, she wonders if she made the right choice.

Some days, when she's fighting for her life, she wonders if maybe she wouldn't be happier with him, after all.

Some days, when she's alone, she wishes that he was there with her.

Some days, she sneaks back to where she knows he will be, just to make sure that he's okay and not in a depression. She turns away only when he catches sight of her and she sees that familiar expression cross his face: _I would do anything for you_.

She would do anything for him, too, if only he knew. She would do anything, including staying away from him to give him a different chance at life. She would do anything, including leaving, just to keep him safe. She would do anything, including disappearing, so that he could begin to love someone attainable, someone who wouldn't become a ghost in the wind.

He is not a spy, so he can fall in love.

But Natasha Romanoff is a spy… and she cannot.

* * *

Well... that was the plan anyway. Reviews are greatly appreciated, as always.


	3. Chapter 3

I FOUND A LOOPHOLE. I FOUND A LOOPHOLE.

This chapter is thanks to ILoveBooks538, who gave me an idea for this chapter and I ran with it, editing and tweaking it here and there. So many thanks :)

I still am following the Marvel universe. Whatever happens to these characters in the end is in accordance to the comics. All I am doing is merely filling in gaps. And giving temporary endings. Because that's about all I _can_ do at this point..

Disclaimer: No, I don't own this. I never did. I do own the nurse. And Agent Quentin Small. You're killing me, Smalls.

* * *

Not many people could sneak up on Clint Barton, but Natasha Romanoff used to do it often- and she did it well.

He is turning to finish putting things away when he finds her lounging against the door to his room, casually tapping her left wrist as she waits for him to turn around. At some point, he'd stopped being surprised or even alarmed at the subtle invasion of his privacy- Nat was just the kind of woman who'd do whatever she wanted anyway, so there was really no point in stopping her. Or closing doors. Or even locking them, for that matter.

Now, however, he is struck speechless when he sees her for the first time in months, maybe years. "Nat?" he asks in a hoarse voice, shocked by the woman standing in front of him, shocked at how she hasn't changed.

"The one and only," she says softly, crossing the threshold. "Fury sent me to-"

"Fury sent you?" Clint interrupts, his voice still gravelly and hoarse. He swallows. "So you're here for—for the-"

"Mission," she supplies, nodding. She crosses the room and looks through the files. "What have we got?"

He is struck dumb again, stricken by how easy it is for her to waltz back into his life after so many months of her being absent. He pushes it out of his head for the moment, though. They have a mission and no matter how many memories are pounding on the door of his head, he won't let them in. "The ambassador of Croatia received a life or death threat yesterday. His daughter and wife are missing, and I've been watching for any attackers all day through that tiny window. He's cornered. We've been trying to get him out but he doesn't want to leave… and he can't, either." He gestures vaguely. "Hasn't been going well. Three attempts so far. Gas distraction, pipe bomb in the truck outside, gunfight that killed four officers."

"Is that where you got that?" she asks, noticing the bandage on his shoulder. She reaches out to touch him, but he flinches reflexively.

"Don't," he says brusquely, and he's not sure if he's referring to her lapsing back into that awful, familiar easy going connection they used to have, or if he's talking to his memories, the ones that are beating him senseless and screaming to be let loose.

She doesn't ask any further questions- she rarely does. Turning back to the data, she glances through the biographies of the kidnappers. "So Fury brought me here on a kidnap case?" She frowns. "Why?"

Clint shrugs, turning away from her to finish cleaning his bow. "Probably brought you to Budapest to relieve me. I've been here for a week, maybe two." _And I've been here for three years missing you,_ he adds silently in his head.

"No, that's not it," she murmurs, already caught up in the details of the case. He can see her gears whirring, her brain moving at fast speed as she picks together details and analyzes angles she can use. "Ah," she says suddenly, "I've got it."

He sighs inwardly. "Got what?"

"I'm going to need to go in and be his bodyguard," she says bluntly.

"That's suicide, Nat."

"Famous Black Widow."

"Another target for them to hit and another bystander I need to avoid." He folds his arms. "I'm saying no."

"You're not in this charge of this mission," she challenges.

"Maybe not, but what's that to you?" His shoulders tense. "What's the matter, don't like people telling you no?"

And there it is, out in the open. The snake that nobody wants to touch. He turns away, ashamed at letting his emotional guard down so openly; she turns away to the files, where she flips through looking for more background on the kidnappers. "I'm going to ask Fury if there's anything he wants us to do next," she says at last, and Clint doesn't even turn around as the door hisses shut behind her.

…

" Agent Romanoff, you're going to go with the team to retrieve the woman and her daughter," Agent Fitzsimmons is saying later, " and neutralize the targets if they look like they're ready to fire." He turns to Clint. "Agent Barton, you've got the rooftop. You're in charge of covering the ambassador. Anyone gets within five feet of him- they're down. Copy?"

The two assassins nod, not looking at one another. Agent Fitzsimmons looks at the both of them in confusion- hadn't they been inseparable a couple years ago?- but leaves, shaking his head. "Youngsters," he says to another agent at the water cooler, "they're so fickle."

Clint turns to go when Natasha grabs him by his wrist. "Clint. We need to talk." Her tone is pleading, almost urgent- but he's heard this tone too many times, heard it through his earpiece as she sets up her targets to hit. She always uses it when she's about to torture someone, when she's about to lure someone deep into her web in order to get what she wants. He's heard it before, and he doesn't want to be a victim again.

Instead, he shakes her off. "Not this time, Natasha. We have a job to do."

She looks like she's about to argue with him, but she stops herself. "You're right. Of course." She steps back, her features settling back into the familiar cool mask of blank professionalism. If he didn't know better, he wouldn't know she was angry- but he does know better, and if that pulsing vein at the base of her neck and the way her jaw is clenched is any indication, Natasha Romanoff isn't happy.

Well, he reflects as he steps back into the building to head upstairs, not everyone could be happy all the time. God only knows how long he's been miserable the last few years without her.

…

"Agent Barton," his earpiece crackles to life.

"I see him." Clint's arrow flies and burrows itself in the neck of the man currently pointing a gun at the ambassador's face. "Why didn't you ever want to be a field agent, Small?"

"Too much sweat, sir." Quentin shivers, and Clint can hear it in his tone. "Also there's that little issue of dying."

"Good choice, my man." Clint stands up and lets five, six arrows fly as he takes out the snipers hastily assembling their equipment. "Trust me, being a field agent isn't fun. You lose the ones you love."

Quentin hesitates before venturing, "I'm sorry for your loss, sir."

"I wasn't talking about Mockingbird," Clint says shortly. "Ambassador secure?"

"Ambassador secure."

"Good." And Clint presses the button on his bow.

The entire roof explodes, and Clint slides to the ground. "Roof's taken care of," he says into his earpiece. "How's the other team doing?"

"Retrieved the woman and daughter, Agent Barton. On the way back to-" And then Quentin's voice catches. Clint hears an earpiece clatter to the ground, and he taps it. "Hello?" He removes it and stares at it like it will do something like magically transport him to the communications office in the heart of the S.H.I.E.L.D. carrier. "Quentin! Agent Small! Status report!"

He can hear yelling, chaos and then Quentin is back on the line. "Apologies, Agent Barton," he says breathlessly. "I have to terminate this call. Your mission is secure?"

"Is the other mission compromised?" Clint asks instead, a lead feeling in his gut.

"Yes, sir. I would advise you to stay in your current position, we will be-" Quentin's voice fizzles out as Clint tears the earpiece out of his ear and crushes it under his foot so nobody will track it back to the helicarrier.

All he can think of is red hair in a flaming inferno and the _last _time they were in Budapest, things hadn't ended so well for her.

…

He arrives at the scene and is greeted by pure, unadulterated chaos. Something whistles over his head and he ducks instinctively, burrowing behind a sand dune as a bomb crashes into a nearby village. As he assesses the scene, he notices three figures sprinting away from the scene and recognizes red hair immediately.

Clint is torn for a moment when he notices the S.H.I.E.L.D. team behind them desperately struggling to cover Natasha's tracks. The terrorists are trained- that much is obvious- and owing to the fact that the terrorists know this terrain _by heart_, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents are being hard-pressed to survive out in the scorching desert.

He releases an explosive arrow right into the thick of the terrorist army and they are thrown into chaos for a moment as the arrow explodes. Using this as a distraction, Clint sprints towards Natasha and the two women, noticing that the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents are smart enough to cover lost ground as they take advantage of the terrorists' confusion. "Clean getaway, huh?" he pants.

"Only the best," she quips. "Come on," she soothes the younger woman, pulling her along. "We'll get you out of here."

There is another whistle over their heads and all four of them duck. "What happened?" Clint shouts as the bomb detonates somewhere to their right.

"Mole," she screams back. "They knew we were coming."

Bullets ricochet around them and Clint turns to see a small band of terrorists approaching them from their right. "Incoming."

"We've got some on our left flank, too," Natasha says even as she thrusts the women behind her. Clint follows, sandwiching the two bystanders together. "You take right, I take left?"

"Oh now, that's completely unfair, you know I never miss on my right side," Clint deadpans, even as he notches an arrow and lets it fly.

She snorts. "First one to zero wins."

They finish at exactly the same moment and immediately get back down to business shepherding the two completely terrified women back to the meeting spot. "Just like old times?" she shouts as bullets ping past them.

Clint turns and lets another arrow fly, taking out two at once. "It's like we never stopped."

Even in the thick of the battle, the tone shifts and it's clear to both of them that this is something they need to talk about. Something to get over. Clint nods curtly at Natasha. "We'll talk later." He reaches for his last offensive arrow and fires it at the terrorists coming without looking- and of course it takes them out.

Natasha nods, her hair bobbing. She doesn't have to ask- she knows that Clint's just made her a promise to come back to her later. Turning to herd the two shaking women into the safe house where a chopper is waiting, she shouts, "You coming?"

"I'll cover you," Clint shouts back over the whirr of the helicopter blades. He waves her off when she hesitates. "Go, Nat!"

She tosses him one of her spare pistols and he catches it with one hand before swiftly turning back and emptying it into the roaring terrorists. "Hello," he says easily before taking several of them down, a whirl in his reinforced Kevlar suit.

He doesn't have to look behind to know that the helicopter is taking off. "Time to go," he says to a terrorist before knocking him out cold.

Taking advantage of the momentary lull in the influx of terrorists baring down on him, he begins running towards the helicopter. He pulls out his last arrow and aims it at the helicopter- and he can see Natasha's face staring at him from out the window and she's yelling something and he can't really hear what she's saying but he's looping a piece of wire around the end of the arrow and then he shoots and-

-and that is when the safe house explodes, and everything goes black.

…

He can hear someone rustling beside him when he wakes. His fingers instinctively move towards his belt, where there's a dagger concealed- until he realizes that he's uncomfortably lacking in clothing and the only thing covering him is a hospital nightgown. _I hate hospitals_. He remembers the last time he was in a hospital- ironically enough _after _another bomb blast- and wonders if this isn't exactly the same thing.

Except he wakes to complete darkness, Fury is not standing in his room, and Natasha is still there, sleeping in what looks like a very uncomfortable position against his railing. He watches her as she sits there completely still, her shoulders rising and falling as she dozes lightly.

It is when he shifts for a moment that he wakes her up. She is alert and awake the moment she sits ramrod straight- she always was a morning person, he remembers. He's the night owl, but she's the morning lark. "Morning," he says softly. "Go back to bed."

"Actually," Natasha says in a clipped tone, "it's eleven thirty at night. And you should be the one resting, not me."

"The wife and daughter?"

"Safe. Along with the ambassador." She reaches over and adjusts his blanket. "Job well done, Hawk."

"You too, Widow." Clint struggles to sit up. "Shouldn't you be running along now? To whatever mission you've got after this?" He doesn't mean for it to sound bitingly cruel, but it comes out that way.

"You're pushing me away again."

"I don't need much help in that department now, do I?" he asks coolly.

She surveys him with those eyes that still make his heart skip a beat. "Clint."

"Natasha."

"We need to talk."

"We do," he agrees, "so go ahead. Talk."

She looks down at her fingers. "I didn't want to leave you."

"How'd that work out for you?"

"How can you-" And she's on her feet now, pacing towards the window. "How can you possibly still be mad?"

"Because my partner of four years left me, Nat," he says heatedly. "You left _me _when I needed you most. When I was here in a bomb blast. You didn't stay. I needed _you _to be here with me-"

"Why do you need me?" she fires. "You don't need me for anything, Clint. Yes, we were partners but we both knew that we were both at our best being alone-"

"No, Nat, _you're _the best at being alone," Clint snaps and he's not sure where this anger is coming from. Maybe it's from the pain of being abandoned. Maybe it's because he can't believe that she's trying to justify abandoning her partner. "That's what partners _do_, Natasha. They stick by one another. Or did Budapest and Colombia and Loki mean nothing to you?"

She is silent at that one, still facing the window. He takes a deep breath, trying to control his emotions, trying to stop the pain from searing his body further. "I just- I couldn't believe you'd walk away." He stops. "Was it because of what happened before Jakarta?"

He can see her lips compress, tighten with the subtlety of an agent used to controlling her emotions. "Okay. Well." He lets out a breath. "Next time just-"

"What was I supposed to do, Clint? What was I supposed to do when you got down on one knee and proposed?" Natasha turns to face him, her arms folded.

"Say yes," Clint answers honestly.

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you loved me," Clint shrugs. "It's easy, Nat. Someone like you doesn't stick around for very long. Either you leave the first week or you care enough to stay. And you cared enough. Those nights in Colombia, Japan, Liechtenstein-"

"Those were _missions_," she interrupts him furiously.

"Missions involve bandaging one another up and keeping one another company all night?"

There is silence and Clint nods. "I didn't think so."

She perches herself on the window ledge, still looking at him with her arms folded. "You got attached," she says ruefully.

He shrugs. "It's not hard to do when it's you, Natasha."

She winces. "Stop calling me by my full name."

He raises an eyebrow at her, only now aware that that was what he was doing. "Full name bother you, Nat?"

"You only ever use that on me when you're mad," she explains.

They fall back into silence, the room seemingly pressing inward on them. Only the hum of the air conditioner thrums in the tense quiet. Finally, he breaks the silence. "I… got married, you know."

Natasha's head comes up, and he's right- she's not really surprised. "What's she like?"

"She was…" He struggles to think about it. "She was…"

The answer comes to him suddenly, like a lightbulb snapping itself on over his head. "She wasn't you."

Her lips part.

"She wasn't you," Clint repeats. "She wasn't a backtalker. She listened well. She was a team player- with the _entire _team. She was patient. She was amazing, wonderful, someone I settled down with, but she wasn't you." His left hand goes to his right finger. "I gave her the ring I would have given you. She said it didn't fit right. And I couldn't help but think, _damn_, I married the wrong woman.

And now my wife is dead and you're standing in front of me and Natasha, what do you expect me to do? What do you expect me to feel?" Clint's fingers work convulsively as he stares at his partner. "I can't _do _this anymore. I need to know."

Her breath catches, and he sees the familiar look of wariness creep across her face. "I need to know," he repeats. "You never told me. You never answered when I proposed. Do you love me?"

Her hand goes to her chest. "Clint."

"You owe your partner a decent answer," he says, feeling the lead settle in his stomach again.

"Clint," she repeats with a great deal of effort. "Clint, I've been married, too. And it didn't work out. Don't- don't make me go through that again-"

"_Four _years, Nat." He is pleading. "Four years- standing and waiting- marrying the wrong woman- realizing that _you're _the only one I will ever want. I just need to know if I'm wrong. If you don't feel the same way. One word, Nat. And we can both move on."

She takes one step towards him, and then another. "Do I love you?" she whispers.

"Do you love me?" Clint repeats.

"I'll disappear again," she warns.

"One word, Nat." His voice is sinking lower and lower into a murmur.

She sinks into the chair by his bedside and takes his fingers in hers, only pressing it to her lips.

They don't say another word.

…

The nurse walks in later to find both of them curled up in the same bed, with Natasha's head neatly tucked into Clint's shoulder. She is amused beyond herself when she sees that the two assassins are sleeping rather soundly, with Clint's arm wrapped around Natasha's waist and his right fingers intertwined with Natasha's left.

What the nurse doesn't see is that Clint's ring is gone. And maybe it is tucked into Natasha's pocket. But the nurse doesn't know that the ring is gone. And maybe nobody else does except Clint and Natasha.

And for now, that's okay.

* * *

Not my best I do admit, but I'll exploit the loophole as much as I can. The loophole being the revealing that ta-da! They really do love one another- OR DO THEY? (Insert evil laugh here.) The story will end here (like I haven't been saying that the last few chapters) but it's up to you to imagine what happens next.

Till then, they have a happy ending. For now.

Much love,  
ohlookrandom


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